The State of Feeling Bored
by Soyasora
Summary: Sherlock is bored. (What a surprise!) Then John comes home and Sherlock comes up with an idea to kill boredom. Review, please! (Not Complete Yet)
1. Chapter 1

It was a cold and slow night in the flat, and Sherlock was bored. This seemed to be something that was happening more and more lately, mostly because no one had killed anyone for a while. At least, not in any clever way.

So Sherlock was laying on the sofa looking up at the ceiling thinking about the options to kill his boredom.

Option one; Go cause a cunning murder and then solve it to make himself seem clever. Now this option didn't appeal to Sherlock for a few reasons, the main one being murdering people was, as John puts it, "Wrong and inhumane".

Option two; Go to the mortuary and steal a head or hand to examine. He would usually find stimulating interest from random body parts of humans. It wasn't usually as pleasurable with animals...

But these options bore him even more then his prior ones. Before long, just before Sherlock got to thinking about all the different ways you could stage a murder to appear as a suicide, John unlocked the door to the flat.

"Hello Sherlock." John greeted him with a grin as he opened the door. Once he closed the door, he strode over to a chair and sat, sighing, from coming home from a long evening out.

Then, unanticipatedly, Sherlock came up with a scheme that involved John. Smirking, he stood up off the sofa, grabbed his jacket, and walked over to the door. "I'm going out. Expect me back in an hour, if you're still up." Sherlock told his flatmate.

"Where are you going this time of night?" John asked Sherlock, for it was nearly eleven pm.

"Out." Sherlock answered, sternly, and then walked out of the flat, down the stairs and into the night, leaving John clueless and a bit concerned.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock walked beside the shops on baker street while thinking of his clever plan. After about ten minutes of walking, he got out his moblie and rang someone he thought he would never speak to again, unless, of course, he needed him, which he did. Ringing up the number which he had memorised just by glancing at it a week before, he pressed the talk button and held the phone up to his ear.

...ring...ring...ring...ring...ri-"Hello?" A high pitched man's voice answered on the other end of the call.

"Hello Cameron, hope I didn't wake you. I want to take you up on your offer of coffee from last Friday." Sherlock spoke quickly and quietly, almost so that it was slightly incoherent.

"Um, Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?" The man, Cameron, asked. He sounded tired, as if he was sleeping just moments before.

"Yes, Cameron, how many people did you offer coffee to last Friday?" Sherlock replied, a hint of vexation in his tone.

"Just, just you." Cameron said quickly. "I, um, yeah... Coffee! Right, yes! I'm glad you called." He started to come around and gather his thoughts. "B-but you don't mean right now, right?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, even though there was no one around to see him. "No, of course not, it's nearly eleven at night! I was presuming tomorrow, at ten," Sherlock retorted, as if that was manifest. After a moment of silence on the other end, Sherlock added, "In the morning."

"Yes! I, um... That would be lovely!" Cameron answered, sounding exited and a tad bit nervous. "Where were you thinking? T-to go?"

"Ellis Coffee and bakery. Do you know it?" Sherlock was hoping he did so he wouldn't have to give him directions.

"Um, yeah. I've been there before." Cameron replied.

"Excellent" Sherlock's plan was forming perfectly. "See you then."

"See you-" Cameron began but before he could finish what he was about to say, Sherlock pressed the end button on his mobile and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Sherlock resumed walking and was about to turn back to 221b baker street when he saw a taxi and flagged it down. As he slipped into the back seat he told the driver, "Fifth and third street." The driver gave a nod of understanding and pulled out into the lane.

Once they had reached their destination, Sherlock gave the driver a twenty and said, "Keep the change."

"Hey thanks, mate." The driver replied then drove off once Sherlock was out of the taxi.

"Now, John, have you gotten to wondering where I've gone yet?" Sherlock mused to himself. He started walking along fifth street and after about three minutes came to a stop in front of a store with the worn out sign stating, 'Fifth street Dry Cleaning'.

The whole building was ratty and old, and through the glass panes in the front you could see that there was nothing inside save for a few chairs and a table. Sherlock, knowing it would be unlocked because of a previous case involving a secret poker game ring, waltzed right in and sat down in one of the chairs.

"Come find me, John." Sherlock said, again, to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

(Just before Sherlock left, From John's POV)

* * *

John walked up to 221b baker street and unlocked the door, and headed up the stairs to his and Sherlock's flat. After unlocking the door to the flat and saying hello to Sherlock on the sofa, John walked over to an arm chair and sat down after feeling exhausted from coming from a bar with friends. Well, one friend. Well, just him. In verisimilitude, Sherlock was his only friend. Just then, he thought he saw Sherlock smirk. Sherlock could _not_ read people's thoughts, as brilliant as John knew he was, so what was he thinking of? John was just about to ask him when Sherlock suddenly stood up, grabbed his jacket, and was heading for the door before John could even sit up.

"I'm going out. Expect me back in an hour, if you're still up." Sherlock told his flatmate, with a look that John couldn't quite decrypt.

"Where are you going this time of night?" John asked Sherlock. He was actually anticipating talking with Sherlock. Periodically, when Sherlock couldn't sleep, which was _quite_ often, he would ask John to talk with him. What they talked about changed from night to night, however, John was truly starting to enjoy this.

"Out." Was Sherlock's cold sober reply. And before John could question him any further, he had gone out the door and shut it behind him.

John then stood up, and went over to the kitchen and started to fill the kettle with water for a cuppa before he went to bed, when he heard a _buzz...buzz...buzz... _Being not completely sober, he didn't know what it was right away. Mobile! It was his moblie that was making that noise! Feeling proud of himself for making that connection, when went over to his jacket he had hung up when he came in earlier. He fished his moblie out of the pocket, pushed the talk button, and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" He asked the caller.

"Hello?" Came a voice on the other end. It sounded like a man, although he couldn't be sure because of the two beers he had earlier.

"Yes? Hello?" John asked again. Who was calling him this time of night?

"Um, yes? What do you want, mate?" The presumably man said in a rather vexed tone of voice.

"What do I want? You called me..."

"Nooo... You called me. What do you want?"

"Um, I didn't call you... Who is this?"

"Who is this?"

"John."

"Well, John, seeing as you _clearly_ called me, what do you want?" After the man said this, he thought he heard someone laughing on the other end.

"Is this a prank call?" John asked.

"You're prank calling me? How _rude_!" The man's tone had just risen a few tones. John was _sure_ he heard someone laughing.

"Damn kids." John said before hanging up.

Getting back to the kitchen, he pored the now boiling water into a mug with a rooibos tea bag in it, his second favorite kind of tea. His first favorite was earl gray, just like Sherlock's was. Now sitting in the arm chair again, he started to wonder. Where _did_ Sherlock run off to?


End file.
